


All Things Fall Apart

by elissanerdwriter



Series: all things fall apart [1]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Genderbending, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 03:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4506339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elissanerdwriter/pseuds/elissanerdwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Amies de l'ABC has a new member, and names must be told and remembered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All Things Have A Beginning

Ann-Marie Combeferre stepped up to the door of the cafe, eyeing its heavy wood. She placed her hand against it and pushed lightly, but it didn't give at all; she shifted to the side and began moving both hands up and down its length, her eyes roving the frame over her glasses. Again, she pushed on it, but it didn't move; she stepped back into the dark Paris streets and folded her arms, watching it closely. The turnings of her mind were almost visible beneath her scarf-covered hair.  
Suddenly, the door burst open and a man was thrown out into the street, landing heavily at Ann-Marie's feet; she took a small step back. The tall, dark-haired woman responsible for tossing him out started to close it, but stopped when she saw Ann-Marie. She grinned, revealing a missing tooth and a split lip.  
"Hello, friend! Why have you not yet entered? The night is moving on, we have not yet begun, and Enjolras is ready to plan a fight!"  
Ann-Marie allowed a small smile. "You, Charlotte, are always ready for a fight." She walked into the bar following the other woman and was immediately enveloped by the smell of alcohol and the rush of a night crowd ready for anything.  
Charlotte led her to a back room, straightening her brown skirt and stained blouse as she went. As they passed through the doorway, several heads turned, but most of the people in the room were so engaged in their activities they didn't even notice the newcomers. The majority of the fifteen or so people in the room were women, and they all sat on benches at long, rectangular tables, but no one seemed capable of sitting still for long. Every few seconds someone would stand and move to another table, or just climb over their own. As Ann-Marie watched from the doorway, a shorter, stockier woman climbed up on the center table, wobbling dangerously, and started to raise her mug, but she was quickly pulled down by a woman next to her who had her hair under a cap. Ann-Marie sighed, half-happily, and walked further into the room, weaving around the first table to reach the center one where the woman was being sat back down. Before sitting beside her, Ann-Marie noted to Charlotte, "My friend, you opened the door with far too much force. By my calculations, only a firm push of about 3 Newtons would have sufficed, and you seemed to hit it much harder."  
Charlotte grinned and sat down across the table, straddling the bench. "Is that why you were still out there? Because you were measuring how much force it takes to open a door quietly?"  
"Efficiently. The efficient use of power is one of the most important struggles we will face. We must not overexert ourselves in the coming months."  
"The coming months won't be that cold, Aimee. Take off your scarf." A woman with very curly dark brown hair and a perpetual smile leaned across the table and tried to tug Ann-Marie's scarf off from the other bench. Ann-Marie sat forward and let her try to undo the knotted end. "Hey, knot fair, you know I can't undo this one."  
Ann-Marie slipped the end out of her hair scarf, slid it out of the knot, and her scarf fell loose about her shoulders. She moved her hands to the one covering her head, fingers idly searching for the pins holding it there. "I know you don't know how. You are the only one who tries to steal my scarves, so I thought I'd tie it this way tonight. And yes, I caught your pun, Margot. Enjolras would appreciate it."  
The woman named Margot beamed at Ann-Marie, then suddenly became serious- or, as serious as she apparently could be. "There's a new recruit tonight. I didn't tell Enjolras I invited her."  
Ann-Marie thought for a second, holding one pin in her mouth while removing the other. She quickly unraveled the remainder of the cloth covering her bun, then balled it in her hand. "That's fine, I will tell her. She will most likely not be bothered. Well, so long as- we are doing the induction, ah, ceremony, correct?"  
Charlotte snorted. "Of course. Enjolras so firmly believes that any member not formally inducted at some point is inherently a spy. I suppose some of them could be, but couldn't we all be, really? Yes, we're having the 'ceremony.' But we should just say, use your first name or not, because I am damn proud of my name and certain other persons tend to force us to confine ourselves to our last names."  
Ann-Marie pursed her lips as she untwisted her brown hair, letting it fall around her face. She stood and used the scarf to tie it back into a tight bun. "Charlotte, you and I both know that none of us would ever betray our cause. And I shall go tell Enjolras- I am sure she was not planning to use her given name, she most likely will need a reminder that not all of us loathe our names. Um-where is she?"  
"Where do you think?" Charlotte muttered. Ann-Marie and Margot climbed out of their spots and Margot pointed to the back wall of the room, facing the street. A thin woman stood alone in front of a pile of maps on the table there, using a pencil to make light marks on them. Ann-Marie sighed quietly and walked before Margot to the back. "Enjolras, this is our first meeting here. I doubt they are willing to let you cover their walls with papers already."  
Enjolras swept some of her straight blonde hair out of her face. She had tied it back into a tail with a bit of cloth, but much of it still floated freely around her head. "Courfeyrac assures me that they will not mind. After our last establishment... removed us with no notice, I thought it wise to begin as much as possible, as soon as possible."  
Ann-Marie leaned forward and gently removed the pencil from the other woman's hand. "Maybe so, but standing back here and drawing on paper won't start a revolution, ma soeur. You need the people for that, and I am afraid if you wait much longer you will have lost them."  
Enjolras nodded distractedly. "Yes, I suppose you are right. You may begin without me."  
Margot gasped. "Can I lead? Please, Enjolras?"  
Enjolras nodded. Margot grinned and moved back to the center table, climbing up on it with far more grace than the woman earlier. "My friends!" She clapped her hands, causing the din in the room to drop. A younger woman tried to climb over the table in front of her, but Margot blocked her with her foot. "Wait a moment, Jeanne. So, we have finally gotten permission to begin! Tonight, we have found a new location, as evidenced by the fact that we are here and... not at the other cafe. I have personally vouched for it, its owners are sympathetic to our cause, and it brings us to our next subject!"  
She sat down on the table, sending several people scrambling to move their drinks as she swung her feet over a bench. The room moved closer to hear her speak. "We have found a new friend! She is not a student, but she is closely related to the working women, a connection we are missing. She is the one who suggested this place to me, after... you know, we were looking for a place. Here, although we are on the edge of the Quartier Latin, we are closer to the lower districts, and to the people we are trying to help." She stretched her hand into the group. "Come here, ma cherie."  
A woman stepped onto the bench next to Margot. She was far younger than the rest of them, and looked even younger for the fact that she was extremely small and thin. Her hair was thick and light red, barely held away from her face by a kerchief. She wore a loose, tattered blouse and working pants, which made her stand out even more: as much as they hated them, everyone except Enjolras wore skirts- at least for the moment; it was a way to avoid unnecessary attention. Eventually, they would cast them off, but for now they were still undercover. The workers, on the other hand, were not carefully scrutinized for their clothing; they wore what they could get, and what was useful. Ann-Marie began to realize how different the students were from the true poor; a connection like this woman could be invaluable.  
Margot stood up next to the girl. "So, mes amies, we are going to hold this meeting in her honor! But first, we need to get acquainted. Induction ceremony! Go!"  
Up until this point, the new girl had seemed fairly comfortable, but at this she sensed the rising mischief in the others as several of them moved to the bar in the corner, returning with shot glasses. She quickly slid off the bench, but Margot caught her arm. "Don't worry, ma cherie! If you have a good memory, this game is completely safe. If not... well, I'll walk you home to be safe."  
The introduction ceremony was fairly simple: each person in the room, starting with the inductee, said their name. After each person, the inductee had to say every name up to that point. For every name they missed, they had to take a shot. It had been devised by one of their professors; at their first meetings, when new people started coming, they had to find a way to learn names. They had added the shots to make it feel less childish.  
Margot dragged the girl back onto the table. Everyone in the room, though already mildly drunk, made themselves into the semblance of a circle around them. Ann-Marie stood directly in front of them, looking up at the nervous-looking young face. Margot released one of her beaming smiles and cried, "Begin!"  
The girl took a deep breath and said, "Amelie Feuilly." Someone behind her clapped and whistled mockingly, but Charlotte shushed her. Margot nodded encouragingly and said, "My turn! Courfeyrac... Margot Courfeyrac. Um- most of us go by our last names."  
Feuilly repeated it, giving a hesitant smile. When she said 'Margot,' Ann-Marie raised her eyebrows, but Courfeyrac waved her off. She pointed at the short woman who had gotten on the table earlier, who swept her choppy hair out of her eyes as she spoke. "Lisette Lesgle, technically, but everyone calls me Bossuet. So, you can call me that too."  
Feuilly paused, but just said "Margot Courfeyrac, Lisette- Bossuet." Courfeyrac pointed to the next person.  
"Luce Joly," said the woman in a white coat with her hair under a cap.  
"Margot Courfeyrac, Lisette Bossuet, Luce Joly."  
"Charlotte Bahorel!" yelled Charlotte.  
"Margot Courfeyrac, Lisette Bossuet, Luce Joly, Charlotte Bahorel."  
"Ann-Marie Combeferre. Courfeyrac calls me Aimee. It is a pun."  
Feuilly worked her lips silently for a moment. "Margot Courfeyrac, Lisette Bossuet, Luce Joly, Charlotte Bahorel, um-"  
Ann-Marie felt bad for adding the nickname, but she figured Feuilly would have to take a shot sooner or later. She wanted to see how this girl could function under alcohol, as they seemed to consume quite a lot of it in their little revolution, even beyond the normal intake. When Feuilly couldn't decide on the nickname or the real name fast enough, Courfeyrac reached out to Bossuet and took her glass, handing it to the younger woman. Ann-Marie saw Joly flinch as the half-finished glass changed hands, but the med student didn't say anything.  
When Feuilly had thrown back the shot with surprising speed, Ann-Marie said gently, "You can call me Aimee. There are only a few who use my full name, excepting myself." Feuilly nodded slightly and turned to the next person. Before the woman could start, she held up a finger and shook her head at the ground, throwing her hair out into a halo that made her look like she'd caught fire. She looked back up and took a deep breath. The woman before her laughed, a delighted, childlike giggle.  
"I am Jeane Prouvaire. But you should call me Jehane! Jehane Prouvaire." She gave a brilliant, glowing smile even brighter than Courfeyrac's.  
Feuilly couldn't help smiling back, along with the rest of the room. "Margot Courfeyrac, Lisette Bossuet, Luce Joly, Charlotte Bahorel, Aimee Combeferre, Jehane Prouvaire."  
The next woman was none other than Enjolras herself. She stared up at Feuilly, looking her up and down. Finally, after a long pause, she said flatly, "Enjolras."  
Feuilly waited. When it became evident that there was no forthcoming name, she opened her mouth, but Enjolras cut her off. "I go by no other name, except to my family. You will call me Enjolras."  
Feuilly looked at her feet and nodded. "Margot Courfeyrac, Lisette Bossuet, Luce Joly, Charlotte Bahorel, Aimee Combeferre, Jehane Prouvaire... Enjolras."  
Quickly, Courfeyrac moved on. She gestured to the next person, one of the only men in the room. He leaned back in his chair, smiling. "Etienne. I don't know my last name. I'm not normally here, so you won't really have to worry about me. I'm with Luce and Lisette."  
Feuilly's face drew, confused, but Courfeyrac leaned closer and explained, "They sort of share him. I don't know, it works somehow."  
Feuilly shrugged. "Margot Courfeyrac, Lisette Bossuet, Luce- Luce-" her forehead tightened in concentration as Courfeyrac reached for another glass."Um... Dammit!" She grabbed the glass and drained it. "Luce Joly! Charlotte Bahorel! Aimee Combeferre! Jehane Prouvaire! Enjolras! Etienne!"  
They all burst into cheers. Feuilly's cheeks flushed, but she raised the glass proudly. Bossuet reached for another one, but Etienne bumped her arm and she dropped it, shattering it on the floor. Courfeyrac moaned.  
"Bossuet, it's our first night! Can't you go one night without breaking something? I'll go find Grantaire." She slipped off the table, carefully avoiding the glass shards, and left.  
Ann-Marie turned and found Enjolras beside her. "So, Grantaire is actually working tonight? It must be a welcome change. For the owners, at least."  
"Come, Enjolras," Ann-Marie sighed. "You know they were glad for the extra help. That's how Courfeyrac actually found this place, you know. Grantaire brought her over one night while she worked. And I believe Feuilly could be invaluable if she truly is as connected as she says, so we are very lucky to be here. I think this could be a very special place for us."  
Enjolras opened her mouth to retort, but at that moment a woman wearing an apron over a once-white shirt and a green skirt swept into the room. She was the kind of person who drew the gazes of others just because of the intensity of her own, and she held them with her proud, handsome face and wild mane of long hair, colored from black to almost blond and covered by a white kerchief. She carried a broom in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, weaving expertly through the crowd and beginning to sweep up the mess while slamming the bottle down with the other. Courfeyrac climbed back up on the table and pointed grandly to the new woman. "Alexandra Grantaire!"  
Feuilly paused, sweeping some of her hair behind her ear. Grantaire looked up at her calmly, saying with a slight slur, "They believe me to be a part of their group. I do not really care, and so I do not care if you remember my name or not. It is not important enough to waste memory over." She nodded in Enjolras's direction. "If you remember but one name, let it be hers. She is the most important. She is their cause."  
Feuilly looked around nervously, evidently unsure of what to do. Ann-Marie stepped forward, reaching out to help her down as she swayed slightly on her feet. "On that note, I do believe that is everyone willing to give their name to a newcomer. We are as of yet underground, and some cannot risk their names escaping. Now, we turn it over to Enjolras for the night."


	2. Begin Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feuilly is gone, but there may be another addition to the group... Which now has a name.

Margot Courfeyrac followed Ann-Marie Combeferre up to the door of the Musain cafe, both of them wearing demure clothes fit for university and carrying bags of schoolbooks. Combeferre's hair was once again tucked up in a scarf, but Courfeyrac's was braided with small flowers. As they reached the top step, Combeferre stopped suddenly, causing Courfeyrac, who was watching the cloudless sky and not where she was going, to walk into her and fall into the muddy spring street. Courfeyrac stood, straightening her skirt, and looking around for the pamphlet she'd dropped.  
"What the hell, Aimee? Why did you stop?"  
Combeferre tapped her chin, a habit she had when thinking. "I seem to have forgotten the force required to open this door."  
Courfeyrac laughed, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. "Aimee, we were here just last week and you measured it. It isn't a problem if you just push it until it opens."  
Combeferre turned to her. "But you see, if I use too much force I shall burst in like an idiot and if I use too little I shall still be in the street."  
Courfeyrac sighed. "We are already late, amie. What if I just open the door and accept the consequences, and you can follow me?"  
The other woman shrugged, shifting her bag up higher on her shoulder. "If you are willing, that would be fine."  
Courfeyrac grinned. "Ma soeur, you should know by now that I have no problem making a fool of myself in front of all our friends." And with that, she grabbed the door handle and threw the big door open with all her might, crying out, "We are here!"  
Grantaire looked up from her place behind the bar, where she was polishing several glasses. "Courfeyrac, your voice has sent a thousand swords into my brain. Please, restrain yourself from yelling on Saturday mornings. Also, what happened to your hair? Did you sleep over with Jehane again?"  
Courfeyrac bounced to a table in the back corner and slung her own bag of books onto one of the chairs. "Yes, I had an early class and the streets are so muddy, I didn't want to walk farther than I had to. Not that it helped," she added, indicating her filthy dress. "Also, you always say my voice hurts your head. Would you rather I stop talking forever?"  
Grantaire moaned, pulling her cloth over her face. "It only hurts like this when I'm not drinking."  
Courf grinned as she followed Combeferre into the back room. "Never, then."  
Grantaire threw the rag at the other woman's retreating back and missed. She watched the door shut, leaving her alone again, and added softly, "My friend, I am always happy to hear you."

The room they had claimed in the Musain was now full of clutter. Late-night planning sessions had led to fast early-morning breakfasts before they all rushed to class, so there were plates everywhere and, of course, glasses. Crumpled papers covered several of the tables and much of the floor, and the group in the room were constantly kicking them out of the way, creating a perpetual shuffling sound. There was a pile of clothes, mostly jackets, in one corner, from the times when they had had no time to change before beginning a new day. The walls were almost invisible beneath the layers of maps and letters and drafts and flyers they'd put up in the past month, and that was where Enjolras was now, pinning up a poster. She turned back to the room, nodding at Combeferre and Courfeyrac as they entered. "This is what we will be putting up around the city. I will give each of you five posters, and I ask you to put them up wherever you go in the next few days. I know we have tried to restrain ourselves to word-of-mouth before, but we are heading for larger goals now. We cannot have a protest without protesters, and we are not enough on our own."  
Combeferre moved to stand next to her, nodding. "This is true. This is what we have worked for, mes amies, for so long. We cannot fail now simply because we were too busy to rally support. I know many of us have work to do and studies to finish, but are our rights less important?"  
Joly raised her hand. "Uh, Combeferre, I have my final med examination that day. If I finish my training, it could be invaluable in case of violence."  
Enjolras and Combeferre looked at each other, having a silent conversation. Finally, Enjolras turned back to her. "Take your exam, Joly. You are right, medical help is another thing we are lacking. Combeferre is trained well enough to handle anything that goes wrong in our protests. Anyone else have a problem? No? Oh- Bossuet, don't worry. If you get hurt, Combeferre will still be there."  
The short woman smiled gratefully and lowered her hand. Joly took it in her own slender one, comfortingly.  
Suddenly, Jehane's hand shot up in the air. "Oh! Enjolras! I forgot, but- do we have an official name yet?"  
Enjolras thought for a moment, then shook her head.  
"Well, you know how sometimes Courf calls Combeferre Amie? Like, Ann-Marie, A.M., Aimee, Amie? What if we use something like that for our name, a pun? The friends of- something. The forgotten, maybe?"  
The room burst into sound as all of them tried to complete the pun. Amies de l'oublies, amies de l'blessées-  
Suddenly, Enjolras raised her hand to quiet them. "Les Amies de l'ABC."  
The students all stopped, confused. Bossuet muttered it to herself, trying to find the pun. Then, Jehane burst out laughing and started clapping. "Yes! The Friends of the ABC- it sounds like abaisse! The friends of the debased. It is perfect!"  
Enjolras gave a rare smile. "Thank you. Now, if we are done- Courfeyrac, you said you had an announcement?"  
Courfeyrac nodded excitedly, hurrying to stand by her friends. "I found a new recruit! And I told her everything this time," she added defensively to Combeferre, "so she shouldn't leave like Feuilly. She's a student like us, but she seems very passionate and she lives in the workers' district. She said her grandmother threw her out because she disagreed with her politics- so, you should get along with her fine, Enjolras. Her name is Mariela Pontmercy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Feuilly will return. ;)  
> Also, because this chapter is very short (as in a third of the length of the other ones) I will post another one tomorrow.


	3. What We Must Do First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the final exams, and some are more ready than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of happiness before the angst sets in. Soon, I promise.

"What is the main argument presented by Rousseau's 1762 novel 'Emile, or On Education?' "  
Bossuet moaned as she ran her fingers through her hair, sweeping it away from her round face. She sat back in her chair and studied the ceiling, pressing her hands to her temples. "Ummm..."  
Combeferre looked up from the book resting on the wooden table in front of her and raised one eyebrow, watching Bossuet over her glasses. "Enjolras, you can't just give her the questions about Rousseau and the Reign of Terror. If they ask those questions in her literacy final, I will be very surprised and she will be very well-prepared."  
Enjolras put down the paper that Bossuet had given her, scrawled over with questions. "They're on here, aren't they? Why shouldn't they be on the final? If I were teaching this course, I'd have a paper on Rousseau, and discussions, and-"  
Combeferre sighed. "Do you really think the government-funded university will be very happy if there is much mention of the inspiration for the revolution that overthrew- the government? You might, but promoting the downfall of your own system is not an advisable survival tactic."  
Enjolras moved to the edge of the chair, sitting straighter. "Or is it that they don't want us to be able to reason for ourselves? Don't give the women Rousseau, they won't be able to understand it. Really, they just want us to remain passive and dormant. The men have whole classes devoted to philosophy and logic, and we have literacy and medicine. Teach us the useless skills, we'll teach ourselves the rest-"  
Combeferre turned her calm, mildly amused gaze to her friend. "Enjolras. Bossuet asked for your help, and I don't think she meant starting a riot of dissatisfied female students. Not yet, anyway. Focus on the task at hand, please. Also, medicine is a very useful line of work, I'll have you know, and Joly will agree with me."  
As Enjolras slowly lifted the paper again and settled back in her seat, Combeferre became aware of a muffled sound behind her. At the table by the window, just as covered with notes and books as their own, Courfeyrac, Jehane, Grantaire and Bahorel were facedown with their heads in their arms, shaking with silent laughter. Enjolras turned too, frowning at them, just as Courfeyrac lifted her head a bit to wipe tears out of her eyes. She saw Enjolras's face, burst into a louder peal of giggles, and fell back onto the table. Bossuet started laughing too, helplessly, and even Combeferre had to smile. Enjolras glared at them all as the few non-Amies in the Musain looked over, confused, which just caused Joly, the only other one not laughing, to slide down in her seat.  
"I don't see what's so funny," she whispered. "Why are you laughing? We have our exams all week, and half of you are skipping them to go start a protest. Why are you not studying? Of course, I'm not studying now..."  
Enjolras whipped around to look at her, saying triumphantly, "Thank you, Joly!" Joly, however, took the sudden attention as accusation and slid even further, falling onto the floor. She immediately scrambled to her feet, frantically wiping her hands on the rag someone had left while cleaning the table. Grantaire, still snorting quietly, stood and stumbled over to their table, taking the cloth and returning it to the bar. "It's funny because we are all exhausted and miserable, trying to remember the load of horseshit we've learned over the past three months, and Enjolras, who is just as tired as the rest of us, still finds a way to turn it into a social justice lecture. And then Combeferre, the only one not panicking because she has the memory of- of Combeferre and hasn't ever actually needed to study in her life, just gently chides her and suddenly she's calm again. And then none of you can see why this is so entertaining, which makes it even funnier-"  
Enjolras crossed her arms. "It is not funny! Grantaire, why do you not care about the lack of power women, and all of the people except the rich men, have in this country? It affects us all in more ways than you can imagine."  
Grantaire yawned without covering her mouth as she returned to her seat. "It doesn't affect how well I'm going to do on my art history exam, or how Jehane's going to remember all her formulas, or if Joly can determine whether her patient is dying of cholera or some disease no one's ever heard of. But somehow you still find a way to bring it around to that."  
Before Enjolras could retort, Combeferre laid a hand on her arm. "It is alright, ma soeur. You don't have to enact change at every moment. Sometimes it is good just to laugh."  
Jehane sat up again, beaming as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "It's true. I feel much better now, much less tired. But... I could still use some help with the theorems..." She looked hopefully at Combeferre through her hair.  
The older student sighed, carefully marking her place in her book. "Yes, Jehane. I will help you. Of course."  
Jehane smiled, bouncing in her chair as Combeferre walked to their table. Bahorel rolled her eyes and moved her chair over, causing it to scrape on the floor. Enjolras gave the other patrons of the cafe a last glare and turned back to Bossuet. "What were the effects of the social commentary provided in Rousseau's 'Discourse on the Origin and Basis of Inequality Among Men?' "  
Bossuet laid her head on the table.


	4. The Fall of One...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras met Pontmercy, but there was an... incident. The Les Amies may be at a loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who will step forward in this time of dire need? *^_~*  
> Also, I know it's a day late, I'm sorry :/ It will be on time next time.

Enjolras had a way of moving when she was passionately angry about something that defied description.

She always walked with a purpose, but this was different; it was like all of her power was concentrated into exactly how hard she had to step to project her fury onto everyone else in the room, and she could do it. When anyone saw Enjolras angry, they could feel their own soul rising, preparing to stand beside her. This was much of Enjolras’s power, that she could almost make others see her side of things without even saying anything, just by her eyes and her stance.

When she walked into the Musain that day, Courfeyrac could feel the heat of her glare even before she turned around. She glanced over her shoulder from the table where she was talking to Bahorel, saw Enjolras’s face, and jumped to her feet. “Good God, Enjolras!” she said, hurrying over to her friend. “Your face is so red I can’t even-”

Enjolras shoved a book into her chest so hard she stumbled backward. Surprised, she looked down at its cover. Code Napoleon… Oh no, she thought, turning and watching Enjolras march past her. Bahorel craned her neck to look, and Courf turned it to show her. They exchanged exasperated looks, and Bahorel covered her face with her hand.

Enjolras violently pulled a chair out from their table, dropping onto it and leaning forward. “I met your friend today, Courfeyrac,” she said calmly. “The one you said was coming to our meeting tomorrow. She seemed to recognize me, and almost ran up to me. She is very enthusiastic, no?”

Courf winced, twirling some hair around her finger as she sat back down and laid the book gingerly on her lap. “Um.. yes, I may have told her what you looked like… I didn’t tell her to find you, I swear! She just… she seemed so eager for change, I thought-”

Enjolras gave her a tight smile. “Well, she was very exuberant as she talked of all the ideas she had for what France should become. Especially one about reinstituting a certain legal system…”

Her voice rose unsteadily as she talked until she was almost spitting across the table. Bahorel looked around, alarmed. “Enjolras, shh! I know I shouldn’t be the one to say this, but- we said no talking about it in the main room.”

Enjolras shrugged. “Well, Pontmercy was talking loud enough for the entire square to hear, and she started attracting some looks. When M. Gringoire came out of the hall, I had to leave- you know he’s had me called in before. But before I- departed, she gave me that.” She made a short, sharp gesture in the general direction of the book, not even looking at it.

Bahorel studied her. “What do you mean, you had to leave?”

“I saw one of the guards coming around the corner. You know the one, tall with dark hair? Gringoire was calling to him. I tried to get Pontmercy to shut up, but she was talking too much- she didn’t notice.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes narrowed. Even though Enjolras had been in the cafe for almost a minute now, her face was still red, and she was breathing in short bursts, pausing frequently. “Enjolras, what’s wrong? They didn’t- chase you, did they?”

Enjolras waved her off. “Yes, but I went into the alley outside of the Corinth. I wouldn’t have, because we’ve been there before and they aren’t always friendly, but I didn’t have much of a choice-”

“You ran to the Corinth from the university? Enjolras, that must be half a kilometer, and you had all your books with you!”

“No, I didn’t,” she said shortly. “I dropped them. I would have dropped that too, but I forgot I had it. I was a little preoccupied. But my copy of the Social Contract was in my bag, along with all my school books, so I must retrieve it-”

Bahorel stared at her. “We are not letting you go back. You affiliated yourself with a revolutionary group outside the offices of forty government-loving men who would not at all hesitate to call in the police and arrest you.”

“They cannot arrest me, I am a woman. And how am I going to go to classes if I can’t go to the building?”

“What makes you think we’ll let you go back to classes? Courf or I can go get your bag, or we can ask someone else to-”

“You’re making this seem like more of a problem than it was. They merely chased me for a bit, I don’t even think they saw my face, and they didn’t target Pontmercy. I, however, will be-”

Courfeyrac cut in. “Oh, come, it wasn’t her fault. She is a very naive person, she couldn’t imagine someone would call you out in broad daylight. And I’ll go get your books, Enjolras, but you stay here for a while until it calms down.”

“It is calm! I can do it myself!” Enjolras stood up suddenly, slamming her hand on the table. Courf flinched away, and Bahorel leaned back, scrutinizing her again.

“No one’s questioning that you can, chief, but we can’t risk you getting hurt before you even start anything. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

Enjolras was breathing heavily again, but she didn’t sit down. “Yes. I’m- fine. Just- just let me do it, alright?”

Courf sat forward, alert and worried at the sudden shift in her demeanor, as Enjolras swayed slightly. “You’re lying. What happened? Tell me!”

Enjolras took the table to steady herself and reached around with her other hand to search for her chair, not meeting their eyes. “One of them caught up to me. I- I was in the alley, I wasn’t watching for him, and he hit me. With his stick. And so- I shoved him off, but he followed me and- he saw my face, I know it, and he recognized me. I knew I was in trouble, so I just ran as far as I could, but- dammit Pontmercy-”

Enjolras looked over her shoulder to try and locate her chair, but the movement twisted something and suddenly she was stumbling, eyes wide. Courfeyrac put a steadying hand on her arm as her fingers clenched tighter on the table, a hiss escaping through her teeth. “Enjolras! Enjolras, where did he hit you? Bahorel, Combeferre said she was coming- see if you can find her. Sit down, for God’s sake.”

She guided the other woman into a chair, smiling nervously at the other patrons of the cafe. She couldn’t believe Pontmercy had managed to cause this much trouble before even coming to her first meeting. She had thought both she and Feuilly would do so well here… but clearly she was wrong.

“Oh God…” Enjolras whispered. “It hurts- it didn’t before- ahh-” Courf quickly looked her over for visible bruises, in the absence of an answer to her question, but she had no medical training. She could only hope that Bahorel found ‘Ferre…

Enjolras squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, breathing in sharply. Courf saw now that not all her earlier intensity had been from passion, but also from adrenaline- and fear. She felt a pang of sadness and admiration for her friend, who felt she always had to appear strong in a world that saw her as weak, and somehow made herself strong through that.

Suddenly, Enjolras looked straight in her eyes, her own blue ones filled with terror. “Courf. Courf, it wasn’t her fault, it was mine, he saw me and now- now we’re all in danger- now they’ll be watching us, and it’s my fault- They’re going to hurt you all because of me-”

“Shh, shh, no, don’t talk. It’s fine, they had to know sooner or later, and they aren’t organized enough to follow you all the time. You can stay with me, you’ll be fine. You’ll be alright…”

And in that moment, Courfeyrac realized that she couldn’t guarantee she would be fine. She couldn’t guarantee that any of them, given what they were doing, would come out alive, let alone fine. Feuilly’s hesitation suddenly made much more sense; the danger had become all too real in one hit by the police. But that was why they had to fight, so no one would have to get beat up by the authorities for discussing their beliefs, so they could live without fear of being watched. And so she leaned close to her friend’s ear and whispered, “ma soeur, we will make you fine. None of us would blame you if we were hurt, it is our decision, and we know you’d sacrifice yourself for us. We know you are there for us, and we are always there for you. Always.”

And Enjolras’s breathing slowed as she calmed, just as Bahorel led Combeferre into the cafe full of confused citizens and two women full of doubt.


	5. We Pick Up the Pieces...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Amies discuss what they should do with Enjolras out of commission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on time this time, at least. We're halfway through everything I have written, and I might not be able to write more for a while. We'll see where we end up, I suppose.

The room at the back of the Musain was full.

They were all there, having abandoned their normal nightly plans, but not even Grantaire was complaining; she sat quietly, pale-faced, in the corner by the maps. None of them had expected trouble this early in their plans, nor had they counted on it being Enjolras who took the first blow. And now there were warnings about her scattered around the square outside the offices, and they had no idea if she could be safe there with so many students they didn't know they could trust.

For now, Combeferre was leading their meetings. She didn't have the same commanding force as Enjolras, but she could see every situation more level-headedly, from all sides. She began by pointing out how afraid their professors must be, for their entire livelihoods depended on the current government. Bahorel snorted.

"I cannot believe it. Gringoire despises Enjolras, he would love to see her imprisoned. I can't believe he only cares that she is threatening his work, he worships the king."

Combeferre nodded. "That is true for him, but think of the others. They have no place in this fight. They are straddling the balance between helping the people and protecting themselves. We can't risk pushing them to Gringoire's side, for I am certain he has attempted to persuade them. He is not a subtle man."

Joly shifted in her seat. “Um… given recent events, are we still continuing the protest this week? Or will we only take finals and wait until Enjolras has recovered? Because now that we know they are willing to injure, if we are protesting, I would feel better if I were there to give medical care. Just as a precaution.”

Combeferre thought for a moment. “I am not sure. I would ask Enjolras, but she would say we were continuing no matter how capable she was of standing long enough to protest. I will say we are protesting for now, but you should take your exam, Joly. I will be there and I am trained enough to take care of any unforeseen injuries.”

Courfeyrac raised her hand. "How is Enjolras doing? I haven't been able to see her since they're blockading her street."

Combeferre sighed. "She is- alright. She is still having trouble breathing, but she will not allow me to examine her completely, so I am not sure what was damaged. She said she was hit in the front and the side, just below her ribs."

Joly gasped, but Combeferre quickly turned to her. "No, she'll be fine. It was not near her lungs, I made sure of that. I believe it might have been her diaphragm, that would explain the long-term shortness of breath.”

Joly was breathing quickly. “I am going to her apartment now. She must be examined, she couldn’t possibly-”

“Joly. She will be fine. She’s recovering, it is just taking time. If there are any complications you know I will ask you to treat them.”

Bossuet gently laid her hand on Joly’s arm, then pulled her into her. Joly closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. Bossuet whispered quietly, “Shh, it’s alright. She will do fine without you. Don’t worry. Combeferre knows how to handle this.”

“Anything else before we move into planning?” Combeferre waited, examining the room. “Well then. You know who your leaders are- Oh, Courfeyrac, you bring- your friend with you.” She gave Pontmercy a tight smile. “I’m sure she could learn something from Jehane’s lesson.”

 

Courfeyrac went over to the new girl, weaving through the shifting crowd of students. The petite law student was twisting her coat in her fingers, and her eyes shone with nervousness. Her dark blonde hair was twisted into an elaborate bun, but a few strands were loose around her face, something Courfeyrac had never seen. Because she didn’t have many clothes and the ones she had were wearing thin, she always made a point of looking neat. But now, she was so clearly distressed she didn’t notice.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Margot!” she whispered in her light voice. “I didn’t mean to get her caught, and now she’s injured and I’ve delayed you all and it’s my fault-”

“No one blames you, Mariela. Well, maybe Combeferre does a bit, but she has known Enjolras since they were young and this is the first time she has been seriously injured, and they both have a lot on their minds. But I am certain Enjolras doesn’t blame you! It’s not the first time she has been found out, she even got arrested once but they let her go because they can’t arrest women. And she’s alive, and we knew she’d be wanted eventually- I swear we don’t blame you!”

She spoke more and more desperately as Pontmercy shrank farther and farther into herself with every word, shaking her head. “No, it is my fault. I was so stupid, I just wasn’t thinking- and now you all have to wait for her!”

Courfeyrac smiled despite herself. “We mustn’t wait for her! We are capable of working without her. How do you think we accomplish anything when she has exams? And we never depend on her at events. We can still consult with her, she will just be less active in our plans for a while. The only time we’d be truly screwed would be if she died. And we’d rather no one die at all.”

Mariela pursed her lips. “But I am not going to the protest. I will just cause more problems.”

“If we didn’t want problems, we’d never let Bossuet go anywhere. O Grantaire, in all truthfulness. We know how to improvise when everything falls apart, because it always does. And while you may think you’re of no use to us, Bahorel is the only one with any knowledge of the law- if we are somehow arrested, we will need someone to bail us.”  
The other woman sighed. “Fine. Who is Jehane? Why is her lesson important to me?”

Courf bit her lip. “Well… that is Jehane by the desk, with the braided hair. And- she’s trying to teach tactics for preventing the reveal of information.”

Pontmercy attempted to tuck her hair back into her bun. “I suppose that could be useful,” she said with the hint of an edge in her soft voice, glancing over to where Combeferre stood eyeing her coldly. “If I’m not to spoil the revolution any more.”


	6. And We Try to Move On...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire is having second thoughts about the cause and her place in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about how late this is. It's been like almost two weeks... in my defense, it's been very busy. In any case, here is a section originally written as the second half of the last chapter. I have a bit more of a new chapter written, but remember, it's going up on tumblr first once I finish it. instant-revolution-24601.tumblr.com

Grantaire stayed in her corner as the other students in the room moved to begin planning their first protest. She gazed blindly out into the slowly darkening room, trying not to think about…

Enjolras. Enjolras and that girl. Enjolras running, trying to escape what she knew was inevitable. How could everyone else in the room just move on, like they hadn’t suddenly just realized that what they were doing was easily dangerous. Like they hadn’t just found that they were in harm’s way, just by being there. Like they hadn’t just touched a tiny hint of passion, of courage, deep inside their minds. That was probably accurate, she thought, they are already too willing to fall into the arms of death for some already failed crusade.

She knew her constant retorts were a defense mechanism, but she just couldn’t blindly walk in to a situation without determining she wouldn’t be hurt first. She had to distance herself, keep an escape route open. Getting locked in meant death. And that was why she was constantly moving, changing, shifting. She tried everything and finished nothing, she reinvented herself.

And yet here she was, on a Thursday night, if not in the same place she had been almost every other night for the past year then with the same people, the same voices, the same faces. The same friends. She had never felt this way about anything before, and it terrified her.

She needed to keep moving. When you stopped, you got run over by everyone who didn’t. And she could feel that she was about to be run over.

 

But she had never felt this way before. She had never known that just walking into a room could cause someone else’s face to light up, or that a friend’s laughter could make you laugh days later. She had never seen anyone give an entire lecture on the importance of the French flag, or watched eight people write a speech together while leaning over the same paper, the silence only broken when someone yelled, “No, Courfeyrac, we will not reference the king as a dirty bastard!” All she had known her whole life was cold expressions and stern but emotionless words, when anyone noticed her at all. And while Enjolras might give her nothing more than lectures, all the others seemed to see her as worth something. She was more than a trophy child.

And even though she gave them nothing in return, these people were always with her. Jehane pulled her to gardens and begged her to draw the flowers. Joly created hangover cures to practice for her med tests. Combeferre debated Greek philosophy. Bahorel fought with her, trading techniques and seeing who could get the other pinned fastest. And Courfeyrac… well, Courfeyrac always knew exactly what she needed, whether it was a stupid pun or a meal or a bed to sleep it all away.

But she could not see what they were trying to do. Why risk yourself for people who were already dying? Why die attempting to overthrow something that had never fallen? For they were going to die, that was certain. Young women could never defeat an entire army, no matter how the passion for justice burned in their hearts.

And yet here they were, teaching each other how to bandage bullet wounds and throw punches and withstand torture. Preparing to spread the fire until all of Paris, all of France, burned. And they with it, maybe, but now they didn’t care. Now, they were ready to start anew.

Grantaire looked out at them all from her corner. She looked at each of their faces and found she knew every name. She pulled individual voices from the tangle of sound and could match each one to a face. She knew why Enjolras had created each team, who was teaching that night, even though she was in none of the groups. As much as they allowed her to join them, she never let them include her. She was just waiting for the right moment to leave, and she couldn’t disappear knowing she’d abandoned them. She had vowed to herself, the night she realized she was still coming to meetings despite all her hesitations, that she would not be the reason any of them died.

But they wouldn’t be the reason she died.

That was what she told herself.

 

She realized someone was touching her arm. Combeferre was looking at her intently, almost sadly, as if she knew exactly what she was thinking about. Grantaire immediately slumped down in her seat, raising her wine bottle to a more evident position. The other woman sighed, taking it away and setting it on the nearby table. “Grantaire, I would like you to be in the crowd tomorrow. I am sending Courfeyrac’s friend to scout for any potential problems, and I would like you to go with her. I… do not trust her to do sufficiently on her own.”

Grantaire nodded before she thought about it. Combeferre smiled and stood, taking the bottle with her as she went to talk to Bahorel. Too late, Grantaire realized that she had just agreed to participate. To show her support for an idiotic crusade. She tried to say, “Wait!” and bolted halfway out of her chair, but there was no point. Now she was stuck, for Combeferre was right: they couldn’t allow the reason Enjolras was barely breathing to hold the safety of all of them in her arms. But her own life...

Courfeyrac suddenly dashed over next to her. “Grantaire, please please come tomorrow. I know you don’t really care what happens, but we don’t know how it is going to end and we need you. We can’t leave Mariela to do it alone-” 

Grantaire sat back again. “I know. I’ll- I’ll be there, alright? Just- let me have a moment.”

Courfeyrac nodded, then stood beside her, leaning on the wall. Grantaire couldn’t help but smile. But she had to decide now, would she leave them in the hands of fate, unprotected and depending on her? Or could she give up the practice she had ingrained in herself for a decade, since her mother first told her she was disgracing her? Could she, for once, not run away?

And even as she turned to Courfeyrac, giving her a crooked smile, she knew she couldn’t. No matter how much she owed the people in that cafe, no matter how much she cared about them, no matter how happy she felt when she saw them walking through a door, her whole life had taught her that if she stopped running, she would be trampled. And so she would never stop running.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of a tumblr series I have not updated in a while, but plan to soon. The next chapter will most likely be in a week or two, so I have time to get more chapters lined up. Once I write the next chapter, it will go on tumblr first, so if you want to read the next 9 chapters of what I have written and see new chapters before they come up here, please go to instant-revolution-24601.tumblr.com  
> Also, this was literally the first fic I ever wrote, so please be kind. Thank you!


End file.
